somewhere I have never traveled
by Fealty
Summary: A modest shrine sequestered in the concrete sprawl of buildings and houses holds more than relics of the past. A living legend without a way back plays counsel to members of a rag-tag team, both desperate just to have someone listen. A story of tentative alliances and trust told in pieces and stolen moments.
1. 001: Begin

001: Begin

* * *

The stairs seemed unending and, worst of all, steep. If it could be considered a mercy, every twenty or so steps was a more spacious landing.

 _Probably so you can look and see how much farther you have to go,_ Yusuke thought, already dreading the idea of making the climb.

Sweat gathered at the nape of his neck, the sweltering sun only made worse by the unbearable humidity. He'd shucked the outer layer of his light jacket, opting instead to carry it over his shoulder, but even that made for a paltry cover.

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"I'm sure of it." Keiko adjusted the brim of her large sun hat, before seeming to come to a decision. "Come on, Yusuke, if we stand here all day we'll never get to the top."

 _Good for her_ , the man thought, watching with some appreciation as his girlfriend practically leapt up the first few steps. Give it another twenty steps and she wouldn't be making her way up with such energy, but he could at least appreciate the view while she was ahead. The shorts she'd chosen today did wonders for her legs. Ahead, the so-called Sunset Shrine seemed relatively quiet, its large torii waiting for them at the top.

To Yusuke's eyes, it looked like every other modest shrine that he'd visited as a grade school student – a little smaller than the larger ones tourists and students might have gone to for photo-ops, but it wasn't too far from the city and was seated on some decent real estate as far as locations went. No doubt there was a gift shop where some bored teenager moonlighted as a shrine maiden for spare cash, selling the dime-a-dozen blessings and postcards.

He gave another distasteful look at the stretch of stairs before sighing; there wasn't any use to waiting at the bottom for Keiko at this point, not with her heart set on spending a rare off-day chasing after mementos and myths.

"Okay, but I'm _not_ carrying all the little knick-knacks you end up buying here like the last one—"

Ask Yusuke how he ended up going _down_ a flight of some hundred and eighty eight uneven, winding steps carrying a lacquered set of tea cups with matching tea pot, several tiny, delicate ceramic figurines, and a tourist-trap of cheap yukata, and he'd spew twenty colorful curse words about _that_ adventure two shrines ago.

In no time, he was halfway up the stairs and Keiko's nose had taken on a light sheen of sweat. She'd stopped going on ahead of him, instead choosing to match his measured pace.

"What's so special about this one?"

A young man and woman were making their way down the stairs, their hands loosely clasped together in an easy-going manner. Yusuke caught the eye of the woman, younger than he'd first thought, and nodded in acknowledgement. She smiled back, ducking her head as the man guided her down.

"When I was making my list this past spring, this one came up as a good one for young people. Some of the travel blogs I read said it had an interesting story behind its god tree."

"Yeah?" He humored.

"Local legend says a demon was imprisoned to the tree for decades, and that the shrine's been protected ever since by all sorts of demon-folk."

He paused, looking upwards at the torii, still waiting for them. His face twisted itself in skepticism as he shot Keiko a look. "Demons? Don't we have enough of that going on?" He really didn't want to have to kick ass on a decent Sunday.

Keiko shook her head. "It's all good things, though. People come here all the time for good luck, supposedly. The family that lives here has been here for generations, it's practically a local treasure." She looked back down at the smaller figures of the couple, now closer to the base of the steps towards the path that led to the street. "I bet they came here for blessings. The shrine's got a history for young lovers. At least, that's what the blogs said."

"Listen, I know I'm not usually the _brightest_ guy around, but I'm not really seeing the connection between a demon tree and romance."

Her mouth twisting in a wry smile, Keiko reached out to encircle her fingers around his wrist. "Come on, it's just easier if you hear the story when we're up there."

"It better be a good one," Yusuke said, but allowed her to pull him along the steps. "With some lunch, maybe, afterwards."

* * *

This will be told in semi-connected pieces. The title is taken from e.e. cummings' poem of the same name. Tentative romances are being planned out, but they're secondary to the character building. I have no actual timeline or completion date in mind, but I don't intend on abandoning this anytime soon. Updates will be sporadic, but I hope you'll be interested enough to hop along.


	2. 002: Curiosity

002: Curiosity

* * *

It was dusty and still.

That was his first impression of the darkness inside the wooden structure. Dust tickled at his nose, but the blanketing silence and stale air in the small space suggested no one had been here for some time. Like a pocket of time removed from the rest of the Sunset Shrine, it was stagnant in the otherwise life-and-then-some aesthetics of the shrine.

Keiko had gone towards the display of wooden shelves and boxes offering fortunes for a small donation, her hand slipping out of his the moment they had crossed under the red lacquered gate. They'd gone to enough of these sorts of places that she knew better than to hold onto Yusuke and drag him around, better to let him wander than hear him grumbling and making comments that would leave her caught red and embarrassed in front of strangers.

It was a small shrine, but it wasn't the smallest.

It was an old shrine, but it wasn't the oldest, either.

Still, it was impossible not to notice how quiet and tranquil the grounds were. Strings of small, tinkling bells, coupled with larger, ceremonial ones, were strung about the grounds. With each brush of wind, the sound of flittering strung paper and said bells carried itself from one end of the property to the other. It was utterly peaceful, the epitome of tranquil and holy; a place of meditation, worship, and study.

It made the hair on the back of Yusuke's neck rise.

Not that there was anything _malevolent_ or questionable about the place, if anything, the sheer gravity of holy energy marked it as the real deal.

This couldn't be said for all the others Yusuke had been.

But it was enough to make someone like him a little put off – grimy dive bars, seedy alleyways, a fist fight with a demon ready to rip his guts out: these were familiar, easy to navigate situations. Here, though…it just made him feel like his hands were too dirty.

The little shed had been an ugly, dark structure secluded behind newer structures that had probably been built or renovated much later. Call it curiosity, call it being a nosy shit, or call it like calling to like, but one way or another he'd found himself ducking surreptitiously around the corner of one building and slipping through the questionable doorway of the structure..

A dark residue, dirt and dust from neglect and the outside elements, came off the frame onto his palm, and Yusuke absently brushed his hands down the sides of his jeans.

 _Well,_ he thought, looking around. _That was fucking stupid of me. There's nothing here._

 _Figures_ , besides a creaking set of steps leading to a platform, some _seriously_ filthy looking cobwebs that looked like they could hold a newborn or two in their clutches up in the rafters, and a giant _pit_ or _hole_ , or, whatever, there wasn't much to look at in here. Even the floor, he realized, was just packed dirt.

 _Hell_ , _I probably shouldn't even be breathing too much in here. Probably mold spores and shit all over the place. Jeez._

Looking behind him at the partially closed door, Yusuke felt the slight sting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sliver of daylight that managed to peek through the doorway. It was dark in here. Like, actually _dark_.

And quiet, he realized. Not just quiet, but still – again, the thought of a pocket of untouched, forgotten time popped into his mind as he realized the sound of the shrine's bells and the soft murmurs of conversation couldn't be heard beyond the door.

 _It's not just the air_. Even the holy energy of the shrine felt muted, deafened in this wooden house. For the first time since he'd made it up onto the property, Yusuke felt the weight of the shrine's holy energy lifted from his shoulders – replaced with just the drafty cold air.

"You're just imagining this."

The sound of his voice felt wrong, the words spoken into air an interruption.

"For crying out loud, Yusuke, stop dicking around and just get out of here," he muttered, and still he found himself stepping _away_ from the door.

Never let it be said that Yusuke Urameshi wasn't a _curious idiot_ when given the opportunity to look down spooky ass holes in the ground in rickety old looking sheds on someone's property. The longer he was in here, the more it felt like the hole was the center of the shed's unnatural silence. In his gut, he could feel a weight dropping down, something tugging at his navel towards the wooden lip of the hole.

He was pretty sure this is how idiots in movies suddenly found themselves murdered by serial killers and supernatural entities that took the shape of twisted shit like clowns and sales ladies.

A peek wouldn't hurt though.

He wouldn't even step close enough to tip forward, just enough to lift his chin and look down.

Inches away from the lip, Yusuke realized that the weird feeling in his gut – what he thought was indigestion, nerves, his inner Keiko that let him know when he was doing really _stupid_ things – felt stronger.

Like a persistent tugging, it felt like…for just a second, the darkness of the hole _thrummed_. Like fingers running across the skin of a drum, there was _potential_ here. For what, he didn't know, but damn if this was just his imagination and not years of reiki training coming in use.

His hand rested lightly against the wood; it felt old, lightly damp like moisture had seeped in at some point through the roof.

It wouldn't hurt to take a closer look, he reasoned. _Not like I'm going to fall in_.

And he thought, if he focused, he could feel that _pulse_ again – just for a second, calling out in the darkness from the bottom-

"Is someone in there?"

Gripping the wood, Yusuke felt his body lurch in sudden surprise at the flood of light that suddenly opened up from behind him. The sound of the door scraping open so quick, so unexpectedly—

"Holy _shit—!"_

* * *

Ah. Thanks for your interest in this story. Since YYH originally came out in the early 90s and IY not long after, this takes place sometime after both. So, you know, please imagine tight high-waisted jeans, windbreakers, solid colors and questionable prints. You know, like the manga. Ha! But, seriously, I love the 90s streetwear aesthetics that YYH and IY both liked to show in their side art. As far as canon events go, we're going to conveniently forget Inuyasha's canonical ending. Similar things can be said for YYH's ending - some things are being retained, but not YYH's integration of demons into the human world (i.e. the barriers being loosey goosey; no talk show demons here!)

As for relationships...Follow along for the development of that, or, rather, _those_. :) Yusuke starts the narrative but he won't be the primary for all chapters. Let me know what you think, follow and leave a review if you want more.


	3. 003: Crossover

003: Crossover

* * *

"Holy _shit—!"_

Hands, soft, _warm_ , holding onto his flailing arm as his muscles tensed – ready to _throw_ , ready to _fight_ , his stomach taut with the sudden rush of intense adrenaline that could only come from being startled out of his _fucking mind-_

His body tipped one way, towards the hole, while the hands tugged him back. Small, but firm, they moved him several steps away from the edge. It took his eyes a few blinks from the sudden sunlight, but they adjusted to show him what he thought might have been Keiko come to rip him a new one was another woman he didn't recognize.

"I'm sorry, sir, for startling you," she said, in a rush, and Yusuke dazedly realized her hands were still on him. "But it's not safe to be in here."

The other hand belonging to the arm she wasn't attached to unclenched, and Yusuke felt his muscles relax. It'd been a while since anything had been able to sneak up on him, but this shed-

"I don't know how you got in here, to be honest. It's supposed to be locked."

"Uh." _Great. You're a trespassing_ jackass _, Urameshi._ "It's…fine?"

"It's really not." The woman's mouth twisted in a wry smile, and Yusuke realized three things in that moment:

First, she most definitely worked here, if the white and red robes were any indication.

Second, she was smaller than he'd initially thought, and he wouldn't have guessed that from the way he'd been pulled backwards – so forcefully.

And, third, goofing off in the darkness must have messed up his vision because this shrine maiden was much younger than he'd first pegged. Younger than him, he'd guess. He couldn't tell if it really was the lighting playing tricks or if her eyes really were that color.

"Sorry, I guess I didn't realize I shouldn't have been in here," he lied, poorly. _Very_ poorly.

There wasn't a chance she bought it, not with the way her eyes flickered about his face.

"I was just curious," he added, "about, uh, your hole. In the floor."

A hand waved useless behind him, as if to further emphasize the obvious. "This one."

Shizuru had the same considering look about her face, Yusuke thought, as the young woman tipped her head to look at him. Kurama, too. It was the look of someone doing some _serious thinking._

"It's a well."

"Well what?"

That smile again; the corners of her lip twisting like she couldn't allow herself to fully smile at him. "No, a _well_. Like, when they used to get water."

"Oh," he said, and he knew before the word came out of his mouth that he sounded very stupid.

"If you don't mind, sir," she said, carefully, like Yusuke was very inept or very stupid, or, most likely, both, with the grace of someone working in a people job, "This is off limits. I'll have to ask you to leave, please."

She stepped through the doorway and Yusuke took the hint, following out back into the sunlight.

Like someone had flicked on a switch, the ambient sounds of the grounds and the slight tingle to his skin returned.

He breathed in, deeply, and allowed his senses to spread out. Keiko wasn't too far from here. He felt her first, before his eyes found her figure standing in front of a large tree some ways away.

Yusuke turned around in time to catch the shrine maiden picking something off the ground, dusting it; a large padlock, heavy and definitely not _locking_ anything. Her eyes lifting up to meet his, Yusuke realized instantly what it must have looked like.

"That wasn't there before."

 _Great, idiot, you said that too fast. Now she_ definitely _thinks you did it._

Wordlessly, she moved the door back and put the lock in place, looping it through a latch that Yusuke could now see was distinctly newer looking than the rest of the door and its frame.

In the sunlight, he could make out her features better. Dark hair, dark lashes, a soft, round face that was easily within the standards for pretty; being around people with features in every color of the rainbow and then some had seriously skewed his sense for _attractive_ , but this girl had a fair enough face that was easy to take in. Definitely "shrine maiden"-like, if Yusuke had been imagining her back during his school days.

Before he could stop himself, the words were out of his mouth. "Why's it there?"

Brows furrowing, she looked back at the lock. "The lock?"

"No," Yusuke clarified, "The well."

"Oh," she said. He waited for her to elaborate further, but it seemed like she hadn't expected him to follow up after being caught.

And he was right – her eyes were weird. _Unusual_ , he amended. A grey-blue like the few ink-wash paintings he'd been gifted for his apartment in an attempt to give him some sense of class (Kurama's words, not his); they stood out in the fair expanse of her face. It struck him how odd it was to see a regular, run of the mill human who just happened to have funny genes.

Those eyes watched him just as much as he was watching her, and they roamed his face for what seemed like minutes when this entire exchange had mostly likely just been seconds. Whatever it was she found, she glanced away, her hands pressing the belted waist of her red hakama. "It's been here longer than most of this shrine, probably. Except for the God Tree, of course."

"What's a shrine need a well for?"

"The shrine wasn't always here." Tucking a stray strand of black hair behind her ear, she walked away from the shed, beckoning him along. "This whole area used to belong to a village and this was their well. Except they didn't use it for water."

Guiding him over to a bench, she took a seat. After a moment's pause, Yusuke took the opposite end with enough distance between them.

Keiko looked around for him, and he waved at her from his seat on the bench. Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't up to any trouble, she turned back to reading the pamphlet in her hands.

"Is that your girlfriend?"

Yusuke turned, an arm along the back of the bench while he took in the younger woman beside him. High school-aged, maybe, but the old-fashioned robes made it hard to tell for sure. "Yeah, that's Keiko. She keeps me in line."

That warranted a smile, and Yusuke caught the brief hint of a dimple in one cheek. "Oh," she huffed, arms crossed as she leaned away from him, giving him a pretty cheeky up-down, "You get out of line often?"

"Enough," he replied, and he made a point of brushing some invisible dirt (well, okay, maybe _real_ dirt) from the front of his shirt. His nose wrinkled as a thought passed him though, and he gave her a scrutinizing look, "Hey, listen, you don't want to hang around guys like that alright? That's a lot of trouble for a kid like you."

"Kid?" A laugh of disbelief, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, "How old do you think I am?"

Caught off guard, Yusuke tugged at the neck of his shirt. "What are you, like a third year?"

"Are you asking if I'm a third year in _high school_?" Again, an incredulous laugh from her that made Yusuke feel like he was the butt of a joke he hadn't even heard.

" _Shit_ , I was asking _middle school_. What are you, fifteen? Sixteen?" He didn't need spirit training to know getting into a woman's business was asking for trouble, if Keiko's hot-headed slaps back in high school were any indication.

She was full on grinning now, and even though he felt like an idiot Yusuke had to admit that she was even prettier laughing. "You know," she said, tilting her head considering, eyes sparkling in mirth, "I'm going to appreciate that a few years from now probably. I'm actually twenty."

"Get the _fuck_ outta here-" words, again, coming out of his mouth before he could put a stopper on them.

At least she didn't seem offended, not with the muffled peal of laughter as she hurriedly looked around to make sure no one around them had heard.

"High school's been… a while for me," she said, finally, carefully.

Yusuke scrubbed at his face, grimacing as he remembered what little school he attended. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

The question was obvious on her face, but she was probably too polite to ask it, unlike his own rude ass. He offered it anyway. "I'm twenty-six."

In two more months, but close enough. Why delay the inevitable realization that he wasn't a fourteen-year old punk ass anymore? Urameshi Yusuke was a _grown_ punk ass now, according to Kuwabara Kazuma. With taxes, a spotty, questionable income, and even an occasional chiropractor's visit. _Damn_.

Her mouth opened in a silent _'Ah,'_ as she nodded.

Rubbing the back of his neck he gestured weakly towards himself, "Yusuke, by the way. Urameshi Yusuke, sorry about, y'know," he rolled his eyes, " _breaking in_ and assuming you were _jail bait_ and all that."

Another crack of laughter, and this time he could see Keiko out of the corner of his eye making her way towards them, most likely coming to stop him from harassing some poor shrine maiden.

"That's fine, Urameshi-san, you gave me an excuse to take a break from cleaning."

Yusuke raised an eyebrow pointedly, tipping his head towards her. "And you are…?"

"Jail bait, apparently," she quipped, "but my papers say Higurashi Kagome _most_ of the time."

 _Funny_.

"Yusuke!"

"I'll leave you to enjoy the rest of your visit, Urameshi-san," Higurashi said, standing up and dusting her pants. She ducked her head politely at Keiko's approach, and Keiko quickly bent forward. Trust Keiko to bring manners in for the both of them.

Yusuke stood up, taking the handles of the paper bags Keiko silently handed to him out of habit. "Hey, wait up, Higurashi."

Keiko elbowed him sharply, again, manners, but he was so used to it he hardly noticed. Yusuke nodded back wards to the well house that was now locked up. "So what _did_ they use it for?"

Higrurashi turned back to face him fully again. Her brows furrowed. "Sorry?"

"You said they didn't use it for water. You never explained what they used it for."

Expression clearing in understanding, Higurashi's eyes flickered back behind him to look. "Oh, that." She paused, and in those few seconds Yusuke wondered if he'd asked the wrong thing. Shaking her head, as if to clear her thoughts, she shrugged. "They used it to throw away old bones and debris from the village."

In a game of poker, she'd hardly take any winnings with a thinking face like that; her bottom lip was snagged and Yusuke would bet she didn't even realize she had a habit of chewing on it.

"It used to have a name," she offered, eventually, slowly, "The Bone Eater's well."

Yusuke snorted, "Alright. A bit excessive, but I'll buy it."

The corners of Higurashi's mouth tipped upwards, again; that same wry, quiet half-smile from earlier.

Keiko made a thoughtful noise beside them, "Was that a problem for the time? Bones? Wouldn't they have piled up?"

Higurashi folded her arms, her hands disappearing into the folds of her robes. "You'd think that, but the well's myths stem from the fact that the bones would disappear once the villagers threw them down. It _was_ a problem back then, quite a bit of one in fact."

"What," Yusuke asked, and it was difficult to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "They couldn't just bury people?"

"Not people, Urameshi-san," Higurashi corrected, and this must have been some folk-tale related to the shrine, because in this moment she _looked_ the part of a shrine keeper. "These were _youkai_ bones."

If either Keiko or Yusuke faltered for a second, Yusuke doubted Higurashi would have picked it up – not from how quickly Keiko made a sound of awe, feigning the interest of someone who _hadn't_ actually had far-too-close encounters with youkai kind.

"Youkai, huh?" He couldn't help but offer the bait. Thoughts of grotesque beasts and blink-and-you'll-die youkai like Hiei flashing in his mind, all just stories and fairy tale to this woman who probably only moonlighted as miko and spent the rest of her time with the rest of them in jeans and t-shirts. "That's just a myth though, right?"

Higurashi pursed her lips, rocking back on the balls of her feet despite the wooden sandals she wore.

"Hmm, I wouldn't say that, Urameshi-san." She shrugged, and the ghost of a dimple appeared once again in her cheek, "After all, there's always a grain of truth in stories, isn't there?"

"Yeah, but you don't _really_ think there's demons running about, do you?"

Two days ago he'd put a hole through the gut of a lower-class demon in a back alley next to a newly opened pizza shop. A week prior to that, he'd been mediating the passing of a freshly discovered poltergeist who'd been more than thirsty for vengeance on some now-former school bullies.

Seemingly oblivious to look the Keiko was giving him, Higurashi seemed to take his question with the same regard she must have given to any other tourist – a finger tapping in thought on her chin.

"I don't know if you've had a chance to look around here, Urameshi-san, but I think you'd find some of our artifacts of interest if you're curious about whether there were youkai in the past. After all," she winked, "they couldn't have exorcisms and shrines if there weren't any, right? I'm wearing the uniform, after all."

He appreciated someone with a bit of cheek, and Higurashi seemed to offer it in bite-sized amounts.

"Wouldn't want to put you out of a job, I guess," Yusuke conceded, his mouth twisting into a smirk.

"Thanks," Higurashi chirped brightly, clasping her hands behind her back. "Have a look around then. I know some shrines nowadays maintain their story for appearance sake, but youkai have been pretty integral to the history of this area."

"Thank you," Keiko said, twisting the skin of Yusuke's elbow. "Say thank you, Yusuke, so the nice priestess can get back to her job."

"Thank you Yusuke," he parroted.

Keiko sighed, shaking her head, floppy brim of her sun hat comically fluttering.

Even so, she gave him such a warm look of fondness that had his heart fluttering up and down like that _stupid_ hat. He flicked it upwards, before moving his hand down to tip her chin for a kiss.

"And don't worry, Urameshi-san-" the shrine maiden threw over her shoulder as she started to make her way back towards the center courtyard. Yusuke paused, looking up and over towards her retreating figure, a sound in his throat.

"-There aren't any _bad_ demons on these grounds that'll come after _you_."

He couldn't help the grin that stretched across his face, a rush of pride and some other emotion burning in his chest from the thought that she had _no idea_ how right she was.

" _Keh_ , I'd like to see any of them even _try_ with me _!_ "

It was a minuscule motion, nearly covered by the billowing pants, but Yusuke could see the moment her steps faltered – a sandaled foot must have gone the wrong way, because she stumbled, turning sharply on a point to look back at him, hand against the wooden pillar of the building next to her. Evident even meters away from them, her eyes were wide with strands of disturbed hair fluttering against her cheek.

Keiko made a questioning noise, moving in time with Yusuke as they both moved apart at the shrine maiden's sudden actions.

The look on Higurashi's face – it wasn't _just_ surprise, because he hadn't said anything particularly witty or funny enough to warrant the way her eyes darted across his face. And she _must_ have been – looking at him, that is, where else would she be looking? But he didn't understand why she would stare with such … _such…_

"Is she okay?" Keiko whispered. To herself, to him, maybe. He felt his shoulders tense up.

He wasn't sure, couldn't place it, whatever the look on Higurashi's face meant but Keiko's grip on his arm had him looking down at himself.

He'd worn a pair of blue jeans, faded but decent for him considering their lack of holes. Hadn't tracked any mud from the well house that he could see on his shoes. The red windbreaker he'd thrown on this morning had been well suited for what he thought would be breezy weather, but now seemed a bit off with the humidity. That was all. No giant spiders, and his pants were zipped up.

Yusuke looked back up, and the young woman was still seemingly frozen. "What? Something on my face?"

For a moment, Yusuke saw her mouth move to speak but maybe it was just empty air that came out because she shook her head, stopping herself from whatever strange reverie had struck her.

 _Okay. We-ird._

Before he could call out again, she raised a hand. His mouth clicked with a shut and he watched as that same hand ran itself through the black strands of hair, pulling them back behind an ear. The motion so quick, it could only have been nerves, because the same strands fell out again.

"No, you just-" she stopped, again, as if unsure whether to continue. She opened her mouth, shut it, and pursed her lips until he could see every variation of frustration zip across her face. "You-"

In that moment, Yusuke realized how very odd the whole situation was. He and Keiko waiting for Higurashi to talk at them from a good few meters away, as if neither one of them wanted to close the gap.

Finally, a shrug. Hands up in the air, as if conducting some fumbling melody. "Sorry, I'm – that was weird," Higurashi said, the words tumbling out of her mouth as if she could sweep up the tension she'd caused. "That was weird, right?"

She laughed, a nervous titter that said in big flashing signs above her head how desperately she probably wanted to go back in time and wipe away the awkward interaction.

Yusuke took a moment to share a mutual look of confusion with Keiko. Time together had made it easy to read Keiko's thoughts, and they both moved forward to get closer. Keiko, out of concern and Yusuke out of… _curiosity_ at what could make a shrine maiden short circuit so suddenly.

"Hey," Yusuke said. Keiko's arm curled around his, as the priestess made eye contact with her before looking back up at Yusuke. Those grey-blue eyes darted about his face, again, before settling somewhere beyond his shoulder like she couldn't quite stare at him. "You good, Higurashi?"

The hiccuping laugh that came from her mouth seemed to startle all three of them, if the look on her face was any indication. Higurashi closed her eyes, hands coming down to flatly smooth out the fabric at the waist of her hakama, in what Yusuke now recognized as a nervous tic.

"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry about that." She breathed out, as if coming to terms with something funny and odd and _entirely_ out of the loop with them, before opening her eyes. When she spoke, she addressed his chest. "You just reminded me of someone, that's all."

"Oh- _kay_ ," Yusuke said, slowly. Keiko shrugged when he looked at her, her eyebrows telegraphing _I don't know_ in response to his _What do I do_ now _?_ "Like…a good reminder or a bad one?"

 _Because you just seemed to fall out of place there, for a moment,_ he didn't say.

Higurashi shook her head, mouth partially open as if she wasn't sure how, quite, to answer that question. "Just," her eyes looked up and Yusuke felt the way frogs must have felt in science classes, pinned down to a surface, "You just surprised me, that's all."

"You're sure you're okay? You didn't hurt yourself did you?" Keiko's arm slipped out, and Higurashi's eyes followed the motion, as if she couldn't help herself.

Yusuke blinked and Higurashi's face had taken on its earlier calm, as if she suddenly remembered herself. Smiling gently, distancing herself from Keiko's offer of concern, the shrine maiden shook her head, "I'm alright. I apologize, I haven't felt like that in a while and it took me off guard."

Gesturing to the rest of the grounds, it seemed like she was back to business. "Please, enjoy the rest of your time here. Let my mother or brother-" Yusuke's eyebrows shot up at that, Keiko's quiet "oh!" echoing his thoughts "-know if you have any questions."

It seemed like that was the end of whatever it was that had just occurred, and, with a quick bow that veered a little too closely to informal and hasty, Higurashi disappeared around the corner of a building.

"Okay, so that was weird, right?" And it was only after the words were out of his mouth that Yusuke realized he was just echoing earlier sentiments.

Keiko tilted her head in thought, her eyes scanning the grounds for a moment. "What did you say to her Yusuke?"

Sputtering, Yusuke spread his hands out, "I have _no_ clue."

"Me neither." Absently, Keiko checked the watch on her wrist and let out a sound of surprise. "Oh, we're way past lunch! Should we eat?"

His stomach took that as its cue to speak, rumbling loudly. "Jeez, yeah. Let's do that."

Still, he hesitated, looking around at the different buildings, the large tree, the direction of the well house. The grounds hummed, like string held taut and plucked with each breeze that picked up. "But I think we should come here again, sometime."

"Really?" _You've never wanted to anywhere else_ , Keiko didn't need to say – her eyebrows up.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Yusuke's eyes caught hold of a detail he hadn't noticed before on the bark of the tree – a large, scar like fissure that seemed almost direct center of the trunk.

 _Huh_.

"Yeah, really."

* * *

10.21.18

Oh, surprise. Another update. A pretty lengthy one too. About 3.8k, which is way more than I planned for each little snippet. Ugh, now we're both going to be disappointed later. I can't promise they'll all be like this, but I'm having fun – are you, yet?

The worst part of writing is wanting to do all the fun scenes that come later, but needing to do all the in-between work. That being said, there are about 10,000 words already written for things that have _definitely_ not happened yet. Why do I do that to myself.

As always, this is unbeta'd. We're just ride and die right now, folks. Let me know if you're still here and interested in more.


	4. 004: Disconnect

004: Disconnect

* * *

"Kagome?"

She started, hands curling around the cold metal of the padlock as Sota's voice rang out from behind her.

A tongue across her top lip made the dry skin sting, the light trace of copper gone in a flash. Around her, the sounds of crickets and cicadas sang accompaniments to the cars passing in a distance. Though the shrine was fixed upon a hill, the urban world beyond the torii gates carried upwards with the night breeze.

It wasn't like that before.

( _What a blessing_ , a voice in her head praised, _we have the finest musicians at our camp every night, Kagome-sama._

A hand wrapped in beads spread fingers wide against the blanket of nighttime. _And look, such heavenly lights to keep us company_.)

Here, a blanket of fog and cloud nearly covered the waning moon.

Footsteps, and Sota's voice clearer and closer behind her, "What are you doing?"

Kagome could hear the underlying resignation and fatigue in his voice. Like a spectator in an audience, she could see the scene so perfectly: two actors on a stage, an immeasurable distance between them that was more word and feelings than real reach, this was just another rehearsal in a never-ending play that had yet to air. Or, maybe, a drama without a final chapter.

Sota was only delivering his lines. She had to remind herself it wasn't his fault. It was Kagome who wasn't following script, and it was Kagome who made the audience of her family suffer.

She breathed, eyes closing for a moment before letting her hands drop from the lock.

One. Two. Three.

In, out.

When she turned, Kagome forced herself to meet Sota's eyes. She let her mouth move, lips drawing tightly in what must have been a convincing enough smile.

"I was just making sure the lock was still on." She gestured behind her, but her gaze held steady. "Since we've been having issues with it."

Sota blinked slowly, shoulders dropping. "Oh, okay."

Kagome tilted her head, "Did you need me?"

Neither sibling looked back at the locked building.

The younger sibling shifted, and Kagome took the hint to start walking back towards the house, following alongside him.

"Did you-" Sota swallowed, stopping, and the silence between them teetered on the head of a pin. Kagome kept her head perfectly still, her body turned forwards; never backward.

In his face, she could see herself, Mama, and what scant recollection she had of Dad: the same faint crinkle between his eyes when his brows furrowed in thought. The same tightness around the corners of his mouth while a question licked the back of his teeth, threatening to spill out. "Did you…feel anything? Back there?"

She looked at the window shutters of their home, the bicycle resting on its kickstand by the hose where Sota had been diligently cleaning the frame, and the soft glow of the living room where Mama was watching the evening news. The house stood meters away like a beacon, welcoming, while the well house behind her remained silent and void. Absent.

"No," she said, "There's nothing."

* * *

Telephone poles and phone lines that seemed to stretch far into eternity sped past beyond the glass window, concrete buildings and the occasional clothes hanging out to dry breaking up the monotony. His temple throbbed, a sharp pulsing that made his jaw clench; it always did when he took any type of transportation that went faster than a bus. Yusuke slouched further into his seat, his own reflection looking back at him with a grimace. Behind him, Keiko worked to address the noticeable stain on her pant leg, acquired at some point while passing through the crowded streets and only seen after she had sat down.

"Oh! Here."

He'd barely time to blink, hand already raised and fingers curling in reflex as something small made impact with his palm. Yusuke turned his head to his girlfriend across the aisle. Keiko hadn't even bothered looking up from where she continued to rifle through her large tote bag, which took up its own seat next to her. The only other occupants of the train compartment were a salary man dozing several seats up and a woman with an equally sleepy baby, groceries by her feet.

"What's this?"

"A good luck charm," Keiko replied, distracted. She let out a small huff of success when she finally found the slim package of wet wipes buried at the bottom of her bag. Probably underneath the sunscreen, snacks, bottle of tea, bottle of water, and whatever else she was hoarding away in the striped monstrosity, Yusuke thought.

It made him look like a wandering bum, or, worse, a freeloading boyfriend, carrying practically nothing while she refused to let him hold the bag for her whenever they went touring. Today's trip had been to a market in a neighboring district; Yusuke shuffling along sleepily at the crack of dawn while his girlfriend was on the hunt for limited edition, seasonal gifts.

"I'm _not_ putting one of those things on my phone-"

" _Yusuke_ , as much as anyone can try and pull you into the modern era, this isn't a phone charm."

However begrudgingly, the once spirit detective turned ramen stand part-timer and, now, spirit world consultant had found himself joining the rest of his generation at the turn of the century, investing in a mobile phone plan. Only bothering to pay for the cheapest possible meant Yusuke's brick probably didn't have the capability to loop all the straps and charms he'd seen young people adorn their own sleeker models, Keiko included – though hers, admittedly, were modest and fitting of her tastes.

"Where'd you get it then? A vending machine?"

Keiko gave him a flat look, blowing away strands of hair more out of annoyance than necessity. "No, silly, from a shrine. It's to ward off bad spirits."

Scoffing, Yusuke uncurled his fingers to reveal the small, sunshine yellow pouch. The omamari was no bigger than a tea bag, rectangular in shape with a decorative knot made of white rope. Light gold leaves were embroidered in a delicate pattern up along the sides, while striking red thread denoted its purpose in kanji.

"Jeez, Keiko, look at it." He wiggled the fabric pouch between two fingers, the corners of his mouth turning downwards. "You really want me to believe this flimsy thing actually works? Come on, how much did you pay for it?"

Keiko clicked her tongue; wipe wrapped tightly her fingers while she scrubbed with a determined vigor. "Ugh! Can't you just be thankful I was thinking of you when I got this?"

"Don't tell me you paid more than fifty cents for this."

When had she even found time to find a shrine in the market? The place had been filled to the brim with people despite the crisp early morning. Food vendors, grandparents, screaming kids with sticky dango drizzled in sauce running around the place.

 _Well_ , he realized, _that might explain the stain. Yeesh._

Keiko's voice cut in, primly. "Twelve hundred."

" _Twelve_ hundred—Keiko!"

"He was really, _really_ nice!" Keiko's cheeks pinked, the tips of her ears flushing in the tell tale sign of her beginning temper. "I thought any chance of helping you stay safe was worth it, _okay?_ "

 _Aw, shit_.

Deflating, Yusuke leaned back, his legs sprawling in front of him as he held the omamori up between them. Keiko's mouth twisted before she turned her head sharply, tossing the wipe into a trash bag that she'd no doubt take with her off the train. Responsible.

There was that twisty feeling in his gut again, the one as familiar and present as Keiko herself; it spanned the entirety of their friendship, like an algal bloom it spread and took space up in his gut whenever he acted like a dick. Which, unfortunately for the ecosystem of Urameshi Yusuke, was often.

"Thanks."

Keiko's mouth twitched, but she stared resolutely out the window. Her arms were crossed and her hands were held tightly to her side.

"I'll keep it on me."

Her eyes met his in the reflection of the window, and he made a point of stuffing it in the inner pocket of his jacket. Slipping a hand over where it rested, he added, carefully, "And I'll be careful. Like usual."

Turning her head, Keiko's eyes softened as she reached her hand out towards him in offering. Raising his palm, he felt something small and light pressed into his skin. Pain killers.

"That's all I ask, Yusuke."

* * *

11/22/18.

Thanks for your reviews and follows. It's nice to know people are still reading. More to come. Hopefully not as long of a wait. There's a lot of ground to cover.


	5. 005: The Second Degree

005: The Second Degree

* * *

It happened like this –

First: Impact.

His body slammed into concrete, the wind knocked out of him so sharply he hardly had time to breath before the front of his shirt was grabbed again. Blood filling his mouth, dribbling from the corner while his tongue swelled uselessly– fuck, he'd bitten it.

Second: Ringing.

Loud ringing, shrill. Too many knocks to the head and he could barely hear the insults the demons were throwing at him. He had nothing quippy to throw back, only syrup and copper pennies filling up his swollen cheeks so he settled for spitting that in their faces.

They _didn't_ like that.

Heh, good.

He'd taken three of them down, easy, but the remaining four were being a pain in the ass – last time he'd checked, there was a group of people, too close, too dangerous, for him to fire anything off and attract attention. These demons weren't _thugs_ either – at least, they were strong and smart enough to have evaded him this far.

Three: Flash.

Something, catching light, and he'd only just moved centimeters in time to miss losing a kidney in an impromptu game of operation.

He'd walked Keiko home an hour ago, had detoured to find something to eat that wasn't ramen or soba. His nose had caught the smell of something acrid, senses telling him to turn down towards the characteristic dark alley where he'd found them splicing up an unfortunate salary man who wasn't going to make it home.

Their mouths were filled, hands slicked and dark, and Yusuke's vision had gone red in fury.

"Just die already!" The lankier one made a grab for him and Yusuke ducked, rolling, all the while ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs.

 _Ignore feeling like shit now, do it later, after danger's passed._

Good plan, good plan.

(God, he was getting _old_ and tired of this shit.)

A decade ago he would have been tossing jokes alongside his fists; smarmy remarks worthy of a shonen jump character, right from the pages of his comics - a one-man, under-appreciated stand-up routine. Now, _now_ he just wants to get _home_. Kick his shoes and socks off, take a goddamn shower, and sleep in until his next shift. He can't even remember the last time he flipped open a manga.

Blue energy crackled like portable lightning as he delivered a spine-tingling gut-punch to the nearest demon. The others had caught on to put distance the minute his energy started to flare.

A fourth one down, its still smoldering body falling between Yusuke and the demons at the mouth of the alley. At some point, they'd managed to dance around each other – he was all too aware that his back was to the wall and they were blocking the only exit.

Three left, pissed beyond anything; the only things standing between Yusuke and his futon.

"All right, assholes," he spat, wiping the remains on the back of his arm. "Let's get this over with."

"Cocky humans like you piss me off," the middle one snarled. A sound of disbelief pulls from Yusuke's throat before he could stop himself.

 _Him_ pissing _this guy_ off for stopping him from _fucking eating someone_? _And_ on the wrong side of the barrier!

"Listen, _you're_ the asshole in this situation."

One hand stayed fisted in front of him, ready to throw down, while the other waved in the general direction of the dead salary man's body, his guts still flayed out in the open.

 _See? You did this._

"We'll have to show you what it means to mess with the likes of _us,_ " the demon continued, ignoring him. It pulled something out and held it between two clawed fingertips.

Yusuke might not have had an encyclopedic knowledge of every inconveniently _bad_ thing a demon could pull out in battle, but he at least knew nothing good could come whenever demons started pulling this shit.

Especially when their mouths started to split in wide, toothy grins of premature victory.

It crackled – black, dark, _bad_ – whatever the hell it was. No bigger than a golf ball, Yusuke could feel from meters away the _revolting_ energy trapped in the foggy, amber glass

 _Shit_.

The two demons flanking the middle squinted, their arms pulling up as if they couldn't handle the sudden flare of energy either. Not good.

Yusuke's skin prickled, and he could feel his own spirit energy rising in response to the suddenly escalating sphere of demonic energy cultivating at the mouth of the alleyway – two blocks away from a standing soba bar, he noted, incredulously.

(And not even a _good_ soba bar, but it didn't deserve to be blown up on a forgettable Tuesday.)

Like a bubble being blown by a kid too small to handle it, the demon's own aura was being rapidly eclipsed by the ever expanding orb – Yusuke's eyes burned, and the bruises and open-wounds he'd amassed during the skirmish felt on fire. The demonic energy licked at him like alcohol, hissing on contact with his skin.

"You'll regret it now! You-!"

It was obvious the demon had bitten more than it could chew.

Yusuke's chest burned, ached, from the pressure pushing up against him. It was violent, senseless youki. The more the chaotic energy spread outwards, engulfing the entire, narrow alley, the more Yusuke had to push to resist. He was pressed up against the surface of a barrier – just on _the wrong side._ It grew bigger and bigger, pushing him further and further into a smaller sliver of existence until he was dangerously waft-thin.

 _This isn't how I'm going to die. This can't be how I die._ _Shit! Dammit!_

Who wanted to die because some stupid run-of-the-mill demon had decided to bring a grenade to a fist-fight?

 _Concentrate, Urameshi._

Closing his eyes, Yusuke willed himself to find enough control to push back. The air around him grew thinner, as the sound of millions of cicadas and crows grew louder – a manifestation of the energy. Deafening.

Pain rippled through him as he felt something pulsating at his side – not from within where he'd been looking, but a literal burning heat pressed tight against his skin.

"What the hell-?"

It hurt to open his eyes, even to squint, as colors seemed to invert and warp in the alley. He couldn't even see the shapes of the demons anymore, or even the semblance of their impression, as the orb seemed to pulsate and consume everything in its super nova.

 _Pink_.

He felt it before he saw it – at least, he thought he felt it. A spark arcing across his mind's eye before he saw it in real time. Not an off-white bolt that he could have mistaken for pink as his eyes cooked in their sockets, but honest-to-god pink; sparks of it shooting like a firecracker had erupted in his hand.

 _No!_ His pocket?! _How-?_

From the corner of his eyes, Yusuke could see pink – _pink!_ – landing in every direction, like an array of fireworks, sparklers, falling stars, all from the pocket of his spare denim. It sizzled and burst into smaller eruptions against the demonic energy, seeming to grow even more pronounced and wild as if making contact spurred a bigger reaction. It wiggled and danced, alive, clawing its way along the ground, in the air, along the walls, towards the direction of the demons.

The weight against his chest seemed to recede, increment by increment, while the light show coming from his person grew in intensity.

Once, on a rare day where Yusuke had attended his classes, his middle school science teacher had demonstrated smoke being captured in a bubble. The purpose of the lesson was lost now, but Yusuke could remember the exact moment the bubble had burst – collapsing in on itself while plumes of white-grey fog had rolled and spilled out.

It was immediate – the immense, chest-crushing pressure, the stomach-lurching dark energy, all of it was pulled back as if an industrial, reality-bending vacuum had been turned on. In a sudden crackle and flare of pink and white light, the meteor shower that had erupted from Yusuke's pocket had flooded the entirety of the alleyway. He'd barely been able to make out ginormous arcs of pink lightning encasing the darkness before everything had become a burning flash, too brilliant for his eyes to bare.

 _No light show is worth going blind over,_ he decided.

Yusuke closed his eyes and braced himself.

His breaths came out in shallow pants, the air still too thin and now filled with debris and smoke as he fell forward onto his hands and knees– the wind whipped at his cheeks, the final wave in one massive fall out. Yusuke's eardrums _popped_ , as if he'd just come up to the surface for air rather than _nearly died because some idiot tried to blast him with a metric fuck-ton of concentrated youki._

Without his sight, Yusuke's ears could only pick up the sound of dust settling, stray debris drifting across cement, and one lone semi-human breathing _in_ the incredulity of his existence. No rasping voices, no claws scraping against bricks, or sharp objects being picked up to end him. He wasn't sure he wanted to open his eyes, not yet.

Behind his closed lids, Yusuke saw flashes of color – white, pink, blue. His head ached; ongoing reverberations that only made everything _else_ ache that much more.

For a moment, the animal part of his brain that was never fully eradicated, even after a decade of fighting and youkai-exterminating, jolted nervously at what he'd seen in the last few seconds of sight: colors _tipped_ like they were dripping off the flesh of reality, burning so bright he could have been looking into the sun dead straight.

It felt _wrong_ , like Yusuke just took a floor seat to a game played by forces beyond his paycheck.

He breathed in, out. In, out.

His eye lids fluttered, his body's last resistance in attempts to engage, before finally opening to take in the scene in front of him.

The entire alleyway was clear. Except for what suspiciously looked like dust where there once were multiple demon bodies, the space felt…clean. Not _physically_ clean (or, Yusuke's brain added, _emotionally_ , considering what he saw happened here) but clean like… someone had taken a big cosmic microfiber and wiped the board clear of any spiritual residue; they'd turned on the UV lights to disinfect, leaving behind only the light lingering smell of ozone.

Yusuke's skin felt tight. It _stung_ – all over.

As he inspected his hands he realized every inch of him, including the skin beneath his sleeves, was tinged the same color. Prodding it resulted in more stinging, more pain.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a real burn, the occasional oil splatter from the ramen stand not included. His red, inflamed skin was undeniable: he was sunburnt. Furiously, painfully sunburnt.

In the alleyway, the spirit consultant regarded the dead salary man, the only audience to his thoughts.

"What the fuck."

* * *

Posted 12/27/18. Happy new year!

More to come. It's nice to hear from readers, so thanks for those of you who have shared your thoughts.


	6. 006: Hunter Gatherer

006: Hunter Gatherer

* * *

"Don't laugh," Yusuke said, shoving past the narrow opening provided with his head ducked.

"Were you being funny? Let me prepare myself," Kurama responded, locking the door behind Yusuke.

Predicting visits was a matter of listening for the perpetual cloud of grumbling and stomping that followed Yusuke whenever he was in the vicinity of Kurama's mid-town apartment; no divination or GPS necessary, Yusuke Urameshi's arrival was easier to foretell than Santa Clause on Christmas Eve. The elevator in the building had been out of service for several months, giving Kurama at least three and a half landings notice before Yusuke would announce himself by pounding at the door.

(And who _else_ would pound at Kurama's door, shouting, "Hey, asshole! Stop washing your hair and let me in!"? Senior citizen and well-known gossip monger Mrs. Nakamura would have wagged her tongue to the entire floor by now about Minamino-san's ill-kept company if not for a continuing stream of gift orchids.)

All things considered, though he'd never tell the spirit consultant, Kurama had found the climb a significant reason for a lease. Such was the life of a reputable former-bandit: planning living arrangements based on hypothetical enemies needing to take the stairs. Considering his neighbors though, Kurama might have preferred a bloodthirsty demon to all the social-political nuances of a tight-knit neighborhood. At least the demon would have transparent intentions, no motive for matching him with any (un)suitable granddaughters or lonely co-workers.

Yusuke shucked his shoes off, the sneakers landing on the mat by the door. His hat and high collar jacket were out of season, too thick for the recent humidity that clung and seeped into every crevice of the city in the last few days. He made quick work of losing them as well – flinging them carelessly on the sleek coat rack, which wobbled precariously for seconds before righting itself.

A whirlwind of hair gel, musk, and denim, Yusuke never lost stride making his way towards the fridge in the adjacent kitchen.

Kurama stared at the full-length winter jacket and ear-flapped hat – insulated wool garments Yusuke Urameshi had worn up three and a half flights of stairs, during peak summer time weather. Through the _neighborhood_. Where people had _seen_ him.

(He would have had to take the train to get here, Kurama realized in dawning horror.)

At least no one was there to witness how long it took Minamino Shuichi to process the absurdity that had bulldozed its way into his immaculate den.

His ears picked up the sound of clinking glasses and his crisper drawers being slammed shut. Familiarity and practice with the dietary and nesting habits of the singular Urameshi kept him from rolling his eyes, though just barely.

Nudging the wayward shoes fully onto the mat, Kurama made way to the living room's sole armchair, closest to the array of flora that grew without inhibition around and past his sliding door. A decade in and this was familiar enough territory for Kurama to understand the mechanics of their friendship – a wild thing that he'd allow to grow rampant instead of culling into its own confined container, like mint taking over the herb garden because the gardener had liked it.

"Yes, Yusuke," Kurama intoned flatly, his hand waving in a futile gesture of faux supplication, "Would you like a beverage? Allow me. No, I insist. My home is always welcome to your company."

Head half-buried in the fridge, it was doubtful Yusuke even heard. If he leaned any deeper, he risked falling into a third dimension behind the bottles of organic kombucha and Shiori's homemade bean paste, both gifts in the last care package and both made from a close family friend's recipe. Neither tasted very good and Yusuke's careless shuffling was probably the most acknowledgement they'd had in the long weeks since the fox had acquired them.

("Yes, mother," Kurama had said, in a phone call – _on the record._ "Please pass on my regards. I enjoyed them very much, thank you.")

"Ah! Yeah, _here_ we go." A socked foot kicked the fridge closed, bottles and jars clinking. " _All-_ right!"

Popping out, the spirit consultant, a _grown man_ , held the container of leftover stir-fry like a prized truffle while he precariously balanced a heavy drinking glass, two bottles of beer, two- no, _three_ mandarin oranges, and the water pitcher in arm. A pair of chopsticks was tucked behind his ear. He presented all of this to Kurama like a traveling salesman, his mouth stretched in triumph.

 _Ta-da_ , his expression said. An overgrown puppy waiting for enthused praise at what he'd scavenged.

The redhead blinked, allowing himself the full seconds necessary to take in the human man before him. There were the familiar thick eyebrows, the slicked black hair that gleamed like a beetle's shell, the rolled t-shirt sleeves and dirty denim that spoke of a reformed punk being dragged into responsible adulthood. Everything was there except…

"Why, Yusuke, you're _freckling_."

"I said don't laugh, you bastard!" Yusuke swore, heatedly, nearly dropping his loot as he trudged his way across the spotless floor – here he was a beleaguered, unappreciated soldier making his way through the trenches of scrutiny and judgment, seeking only to eat free food and hydrate on someone else's filtered water and this was the type of shit he was getting?

Covering his mouth to hide his chuckles, Kurama turned to regard the potted garden beside him. Aloe vera, then, and plenty of it if Yusuke's complexion was anything to go by; he was brown as a nut in some places, while flushed a feverish-looking red in others – the unfortunate marriage of a lobster and a macadamia.

White peeling skin and sun-kissed freckles dotted his body like a topographical map of shorelines and deserts.

The fox leaned out of his seat, fingers trailing along the spiny ridges of his thickest aloe leaves, nestled in among a bed of fat succulents. "What _have_ you been up to, Yusuke?"

His pilfered goods dropped haphazardly on the coffee table, Yusuke fell onto the sofa in a sigh of relief. "I know I said it was tacky before, but I'm really okay with the leather right now."

Yusuke had a way of meandering his way to a point, when he wanted to, and he did it so often in the manner of a closed-off patron to Kurama's bar. Luckily, patience was a virtue and Kurama could out-wait even hard to crack stone eggs.

Yusuke sniffed, rubbing his nose. Then he sniffed again, mouth twisting like a dog catching a bad scent. The sunburnt man poured himself a glass from the pitcher, the water sloshing in his haste. The corner of Kurama's mouth quirked. No doubt Yusuke _would_ have preferred something dark, amber, and three times strong from a glass, but he knew he would find none of that here. It took a glass and a half, gulped down in quick succession, before Yusuke stopped – grimacing as he rubbed at his temple.

"Okay, so something _weird_ happened."

Kurama blinked slowly, tipping his head in acknowledgement. "I surmised."

"No," Yusuke scrubbed at his face. Flakes of skin drifted downwards like snow. Gesturing towards his body, "Something really weird happened – like, _this_ , I don't even know how this happened. Hell, I don't even really understand everything I saw."

Lifting his hips, Yusuke dug around for a moment in his pockets before pulling something out. He tossed it onto the spotless surface of the finished wood, his fingers flicking like he was dispelling excess dust or static. A second of thought, then the consultant silently reached across the table for a coaster, slipping it under the sweating glass.

Green eyes took in the innocuous fabric pouch; no different than the omamori he used to see his classmates wearing during exam time. Kurama looked up at the other man, nodding his head to continue.

Yusuke tapped emphatically on the surface beside the charm, mouth twisting in a grimace. "This little bastard right here," he started, "is why I look like _this_ and why four sub-standard demons look like the tray I know you've got stashed away somewhere."

Without prompting, his hand reached underneath the coffee table to the lower storage area. Deftly reaching behind the potted ferns and stack of high-resolution photography collections and other reads, Yusuke pulled out the small crystal ashtray, brandishing it with a smirk; a successful hunt.

"You bastard. I thought you quit."

Mouth pursing, Kurama took the ashtray from the smug detective, placing it on the table with a heavy clink. "What my mother doesn't know, Yusuke-"

"-You could fill entire libraries with, yeah, yeah." Waving it off, Yusuke gestured towards the charm again. "But seriously, this thing did some damage."

"It burnt them as well?"

Yusuke hummed, tipping his head back as he downed the rest of the glass. "No, no, it fucking _incinerated_ the existence out of them. Kurama, there's probably not enough left of them to even fit in that tray."

His brows rising in surprise, Kurama regarded the omamori with new eyes. "How long have you had it?"

The incredulous ' _And you've been_ carrying it _around_ with _you?'_ was evident enough in his voice. Disapproval ran through the tick of his brow.

"Like, two weeks before the whole thing happened. Maybe three, tops." Yusuke shrugged, rolling an orange across the back of his hand before he set to peel it.

Two weeks in Yusuke's pocket and the fabric was _pristine_ – even the white glimmered under the fluorescents with the pearly, silk shine of good quality thread. Not only was it spotless, it _smelled_ fresh, which should have been impossible considering where it'd been kept. No, now that he examined it closer, every inch of it seemed utterly spotless; in quality, scent, and aura. Crisp. Clean.

Curiosity piqued, the fox leaned forward, fingers curling in loamy soil.

"Tell me everything, from the start."

* * *

12/31/18. Another update - so soon, so fast, but I just had to get it out while I still had that flow. I'm sure you don't mind. Also, though no one's asked, you've probably noticed I'm decidedly in the "Let Yusuke say Fuck" Camp. I mean, look at that loud boy. He's that friend, you know. That one. Let him eat your food, let him sleep on your couch. Dude's had it rough.

Comments are fun and help me gauge interest. I hope you're enjoying the slow worldbuilding and character development I'm rolling out; this story has been an exercise in getting to explore and reflect on some nostalgic, old love fandoms. I will admit I am indulging, even at a snail's pace, all the things I've always wanted to see as a reader. Tell me all your theories and curiosities! Let me know how you're enjoying the sandbox. After this week, updates will be slow to come again.


	7. 007: Terms of Service

007|1 terms of service

* * *

"Keiko can't remember where she got this?" Kurama questioned. The omamori in question lay innocently between them on the coffee table. Despite its earlier display, the fabric was still intact as if it hadn't just flung a demon three times Yusuke's size across a distance like some hyped taser.

Yusuke leaned back, flicking his sopping fingers outwards to dispel the remaining aloe; his arms and face were coated in slimy green. Dead skin flaked off with the motion in globules that flecked the surface of Kurama's coffee table and leather sofa.

Kurama made a surreptitious wipe of the coffee table – at least Yusuke had the thought to place a coaster down. Caveman manners, but still manners.

"I mean, she says she was probably with me when she got it, but, honestly, Kurama, we've been to so many _I_ barely remember any of them."

The redhead made a considering sound, hand hovering above the pouch. "That _is_ a problem."

Narrowing his eyes, Kurama concentrated as he willed his youki to the surface. Yusuke opened one eye, the energy in the room swirling to concentrate around the man. It wasn't anywhere near as impressive as Kurama's battle aura, but it made the tips of Yusuke's own fingers tingle.

At first, it seemed like nothing was happening.

From an outsider's perspective, it might have been comical to see such a look of serious scrutiny on Kurama's face, his hand poised like a magician waiting to time his trick. The only sound that filled the room was the ticking of the sleek, modern clock hanging above the sofa. ( _Which, by the way, doesn't even have numbers so to hell with that, Kurama,_ Yusuke thought.)

… _There!_

It happened quickly, in tendrils. The same arc of pink light that he'd seen before rising like bottled lightning from the surface of the yellow fabric.

Yusuke had seen Kurama ripped and sliced to near shreds on more than one occasion and it never failed to impress him – and, seriously, privately, _wig him the fuck out_ – that the fox-turned-man could take it all with hardly a flinch. The zap was no exception as Kurama merely sucked in a small breath between his teeth.

The only sign that it must have hurt as much as it _looked_ like it had was the sudden spider-web of burn marks flaring out from the center of Kurama's palm, curling upwards until they faded near the top of his hand.

Yusuke hissed, pulling back.

Kurama lifted his hand up, examining the surface with a clinical eye. In seconds, blood was welling up in small droplets along the lines—the skin stung as much as any laceration. It was so quiet Yusuke could hear the moment a few, singular drops splashed across the top of the table; little _plink_ s like tears, though Kurama's eyes remained entirely dry.

"Shit," Yusuke breathed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Who knows how many Keiko has—should I be worried?"

Standing, Kurama headed towards the kitchen. Yusuke's ears picked up the sound of running water splashing against a stainless steel basin.

"No, Yusuke, I don't think so," the redhead said as he appeared again. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, thoughtfully turning his palm over. "If anything, it might be in her best interest to keep one on her."

Yusuke made a questioning sound, to which the fox responded with a rueful smile.

"It did exactly as it was supposed to do."

* * *

007|2 vice

"Hey," Yusuke said, clasping a hand over the redhead's shoulder. "You sure you don't mind doing this?"

Kurama looked over his shoulder, taking in the other man. A few days of constant watering and a strict regiment of aloe slathered across his body at odd hours, per Kurama's orders, had transformed Yusuke's appearance from post-apocalyptic survivor to something resembling a young person returning from a sunny holiday having forgotten their sunscreen. The awful winter ensemble had yet to be ditched, much to the fox's chagrin.

It wasn't accurate to call it a smile, those were rare and few when it came to Kurama, but the corners of his mouth turned upwards in a familiar expression of humor—to Yusuke, it sometimes felt like Kurama was looking back to indulge the consultant, several steps ahead on the board game while Yusuke was still figuring out the rules.

( _Or, sometimes_ , Yusuke mused, _while I'm getting out of jail or sitting on my ass on property I can't sell_. One-on-one street brawls and speed racing were more Yusuke's style anyway—more risk for a bigger boom.)

"I wouldn't be here if it inconvenienced me, Yusuke. Besides, I admit I'm rather curious myself." Kurama's long strides barely faltered as he slipped his card through the gate, tucking it back into his jacket once it was punched. Yusuke muttered, fumbling with his wallet as he crammed his own afterwards into the slot, following along hurriedly as workers and tourists scuttled about the station in orderly disarray.

They stopped along a wall of free magazines and guides. Kurama gestured and Yusuke took the hint, eyes scanning the racks for all the familiar ones he could remember—those he grabbed, and a few that looked promising, despite the English letters on their front, for good measure.

"Well, by all means," Yusuke said, waving the pamphlets in his hand loosely. "Have at 'em."

Kurama rifled through the stack, eyebrows raised. "She _has_ been prolific. I've been meaning to visit some of these myself."

Yusuke rolled his eyes good-naturedly, shooting the fox a fond look. "You're so _old_."

A few years difference between them meant Kurama had started university before the rest of them—he knew Yusuke's regular stream of pokes had nothing to do with his physical age and more to do with his mannerisms. The former detective had always found them responsible, mature, and, well, _old_.

Funny, though, that Kurama hadn't been the one to lead a team to various victories or make life-altering decisions that would have aged any mortal in decades. Yusuke's contradictory nature fell in line with his persistent tendencies to juggle the desire and rejection of being pulled in either direction.

"You'll have to stop resisting at some point and join the rest of us, Yusuke," the redhead teased, summer ivy eyes flicking up from beneath half-lids as he shuffled the pamphlets by location—closest in distance at the forefront, the rest in the back. "Maybe this will be the decade we get some culture in you."

"Ugh, _cultured_ my ass—" Yusuke had the decency to look shamefaced as an elderly couple walked by, shooting him a dirty look. He waited for them to round the corner. "I'd rather be eating that yoghurt that helps you take a dump than do a _tour de shrine_."

It never failed to be entertaining: having a first row seat to humor powered by Yusuke's own internal logic. Brows furrowing, mouth twisting to mirror the same fondness Yusuke had for him, Kurama regarded the consultant. "Was there a pun in there somewhere?"

Scoffing, but doing nothing to hide the shit-eating grin on his face, Yusuke jerked his head towards the kiosk in the middle of the underground mall.

"Lemme grab a snack and some more research."

Kurama nodded, following along. He deftly sidestepped giggling schoolgirls and the occasional stranger who slowed to look at him, nearly three decades of experience allowing him to go unfazed and untouched. By now, lingering looks, both subtle and blatant, had all the weight of mist—he noticed, catalogued, assessed, but it'd been years since the othering had any chance of impact.

Yusuke wove in front of him, his shoulders knocking into random strangers, while his shoes scuffed along the tiles. In his steps, there was some semblance of grace imbued by Genkai and years as a seasoned fighter, but it was hidden the way geodes were deceptive; their value imperceptible at an outward glance. People actively sidestepped and parted for Yusuke, and yet he still managed to graze and touch someone every other second.

Not for the first time, the redhead took a moment to regard the man in front of him with no small amount of envy. Yusuke walked among the people in every physical and tactile way possible, every semblance of mortal, something Kurama found he couldn't do, or, rather, bring himself to do.

The redhead hummed thoughtfully, waiting beside the queue while Yusuke examined the kiosk's wares. "Maybe we should work backwards, from the most recent ones to the oldest. Did Keiko go to any of these alone?"

"Sometimes, yeah. It's been her thing. I don't know, but I think it makes her feel like she's keeping me safe or something—like, pulling strings from as many places as she can."

It was a startling insightful thought that had Kurama's eyebrows lifting.

Dipping his head at the stack of shiny magazines and guides by the kiosk worker's elbow, Yusuke reached into his back pocket for his wallet. A folded bill between fingers interrupted Yusuke's sight and stopped him from dropping the money into the plastic collection tray. Kurama flashed a thin smile at the worker.

"I've got this, Yusuke. You're letting me tag along after all."

Raising a brow but shrugging, Yusuke backed off, hands in the air. _Go ahead, you do what you want._ He jerked his head towards a pole, a few meters away, already ambling towards it.

With Yusuke's back to him, Kurama gestured subtly to the line of cartons behind the worker. "One as well. Thank you."

* * *

007|3 long game

It didn't cross Yusuke's mind, though it certainly crossed Kurama's, that he looked like a questionable, though friendly, tramp in his out-of-season coat and hat that did nothing to hide his riot of freckles, a less than common sight among the general populace. If anything, it most likely cemented in the worker's mind that Kurama was a Good Samaritan indulging in a charitable act with a lost tourist.

With the sizable stack and their dwindling daylight, Kurama considered the red torii on the glossy front of the first magazine. " _Meiji_ seems almost too obvious, doesn't it?"

Yusuke's head bobbed as he checked the various connections on display; given the limited time they had, they could only spare one trip out before he would have to head home. Not even bothering to use both hands, he lifted one of the three packaged bars he'd grabbed from the kiosk to his mouth—teeth tearing into the corner easily.

"Yeah, that one's pretty hard to miss. Probably the first one we went to?" He looked back at Kurama, and suddenly it was impossible not to see the boyish charm underneath the hard shell of hair gel. The freckles had knocked five years off him, easily, and the brightly colored snack that barely constituted as real food did a number. "You ever went to that one as a kid, Kurama?"

"Yes, my mother took me a number of times when we would visit extended family," Kurama responded, foot back in the past for a moment. "We went there before the results of my entrance exam were out."

"University?"

"High school," he corrected. "My younger brother and I posed for pictures. She likely has it in an album somewhere." Two young boys, one holding up the obligatory peace sign while the other stood stoic in front of the sake barrels. His hair had been cropped short back then, his mother's well-meaning attempts at keeping anyone from teasing him before he'd calmly told her he didn't care what others thought.

(It was hard to care when a several centuries-year old kitsune spirit was housed inside you and had significant, if not parasitic, influence over your psyche.)

Yusuke hummed, tipping his head up as he considered the image. The last of the rice cracker he'd held between his teeth disappeared into his mouth, the wrapper deftly plucked to disappear in his fist. "I went once before middle school."

"Ah." Kurama flicked his wrist, the linen cuff moving to show the current time on the leather band. He flipped through the stack once more, settling for a smaller, less prominent location. Close, convenient, a good lead to settle for with what they had. Tapping the glossy front as a sign to move, Kurama absently asked, "A school trip, then?"

"No, just a family day. I was small enough my dad had to carry me on his shoulders," Yusuke answered, kicking off the wall and heading towards the steps. He stuffed the wrapper in the backpocket of his jeans, jerking his head towards the stairs. "We'll want the line over here, right?"

To his credit, Kurama only faltered for half a second, curiosity immediately piqued, before nodding in confirmation. The dark haired man continued on, taking the steps two at a time while the fox followed.

Considering his skill in acquiring all manners of things—information or material goods—it was remarkably impressive how little Kurama knew about _this_ part of Yusuke's life. Yusuke rarely spoke about the other biological contributor that had made him, Atsuko in a category of her own, and it'd be a lie to say Kurama wasn't curious. One could have argued it was in his nature, but it might have been curiosity sparked only for the distinct lack of knowledge he had in the entire matter.

He tamped down the desire to ask further, despite the five, ten (twenty) subtly leading questions he'd already started to spin as he stared at the back of Yusuke's head.

His demonic predecessor might have pursued it to an end, quickly and voraciously, but two lives lived also gave to reason.

Some things simply required the element of time, their acquisition made all the better by it.

He could appease the spirit inside of him knowing some complexities demanded a long game.

And though the boundaries that defined his humanity and, subsequently, his human persona Shuichi became less and less as Kurama existed more and more as an amalgam these days, what _was_ there gently offered another point: right now what friendship he had with Yusuke had more value than _knowing_ the intimacies of Yusuke for the sake of knowing.

* * *

007|4 traveler's charm

"Ah," Yusuke said, cocking his head, "I hear it coming."

With little fanfare, which was to say absolutely none, the right line did arrive as scheduled and both Kurama and Yusuke waited for the flow of passengers to exit before making their way on. It was a nearly silent affair, but well coordinated.

 _Here is the rare moment_ , Kurama humored, _Yusuke and I are as ordinary as everyone else, for once_. It was comforting: their bodies moving by muscle memory, not for katas or spirit weapons, but for the shared cultural hegemony that was public transit; the same as the young woman or the elderly man entering with them.

Travel time meant a brief grace period to process. Things certainly had become slow if this was the most intriguing thing to have happened in weeks, months—on a potentially wild chase with Yusuke as a partner, no less, with no hint of reward or boon except to sate his curiosity.

At first, Kurama's singular grain of compassion was purely for his human mother, but the past ten years had slowly found him amassing more grains until a small territory worthy of being defended had formed—comprised of people he saw as not just a means to an end but truly significant. Shiori and his younger brother Shuichi, Yusuke, Hiei, Kazuma, and a few others… An admittedly small pool, but it was more than zero, where it'd been before.

By association, concern for _them_ meant having to extend _some_ amount of regard to _their_ people, though to the fox that was simply a part of strategy. In the modern age and human world, a thief had to evolve; material wealth had been traded for other things, as far as vices go.

It all tended toward his vein of self-serving greed; what was _his_ needed looking after and this was all part of that maintenance, the same treatment he would have given his plants.

How novel it was for Yoko Kurama, in this incarnation, to care for humans of all things!

He'd spent so many years rejecting humans; seeing them _less than_ , all the while trapped in a vessel made from the same sinews and bones as them but _not at all_ like them. It'd taken him countless _more_ moments to realize he had common ground with humans—was one of them, to an extent.

( _And_ , _truthfully,_ Kurama would be the first to admit, _these days 'to what extent' would take years to debate and determine._ Where Shuichi, Kurama, and Yoko Kurama seemed to exist was its own compendium of philosophical and spiritual bastardy, leading Kurama to, temporarily, accept the Urameshi school of existential thought: "fuck it.")

 _How would any of these people react knowing a demon was right beside them?_

Not for the first time, Kurama absently wondered this, as the floor beneath him shifted and rumbled, his body leaning and bracing itself as metal traveled along rails in the dark. _Two demons, even, if Yusuke were to count_. Or, maybe, if neither of them fully counted, two imaginary numbers that depended on the probability of imminent danger and a toddler with a pacifier and too much power.

As many were on their way home, while many more were commuting for the start of the evening shift, a steady stream of bodies had divided the two men. Yusuke at one end by the doors, Kurama taking the other set at the opposite.

It should have been inconvenient not to discuss their next steps but considering the unique nature for their excursion in the first place, continuing discussion while in proximity to others was unwise—if not a little impolite, considering how many regularly, Kurama included, liked traveling in relative silence.

The redhead made it a point to look out towards the windows, having learned in the past that staring into the distance while faced towards anyone would sometimes garner unwanted attention. Too many potential marriage proposals had been concocted from moments sprung from accidentally catching a stranger's eyes for too long.

Yusuke, on the other hand, seemed to take no problem with facing the other bodies in the space. His lack of regard for hiding his wandering, observing eyes was its own blanket anonymity—Yusuke didn't actually care that much about what or who he was looking at, no one was too above or below him to garner a cursory glance. Its boldness was defiance in the face of social etiquette. And, yet, Yusuke's lack of duplicity was refreshing.

Rather than politely ignoring or looking away, the dark haired man's complete comfort in his own body and how it inhabited the space around him, not for the comfort or influence of others, was its own form of strength.

It made Kurama relax fractionally—his guard was still up, it always would be when surrounded by others, but at least he wasn't alone.

From the speakers, the voice announced with crisp clarity that they would be arriving shortly. Yusuke looked away from the young man his eyes had idled on, dark brown eyes sweeping away to catch Kurama's eye. Kurama nodded, the corners of his mouth tightening. The corner of Yusuke's own mouth lifted in response, a crooked smile silently communicating what they both thought:

The investigation was on.

* * *

four segments! a confession: I tend to update on snow days and days where I have to stay indoors, since I can put off work for a little bit to do fan work. wish for more polar vortexes and bad storms if you want more, then, I suppose! entirely by coincidence, as I was logging in to post this I saw that forthright's _Affinity_ also just updated and so I'm going to scuttlebutt over and read that right after I finish posting this. excite!

since this takes place in the 90s/early 2000s, the current easy swipe system used for Japan's transit system wouldn't be available, let alone universal – hence pre-paid cards with magnetic chips for punching. originally I, no joke, wrote a five paragraph essay on the entire subject but deleted it all bc I realized no one would care to read that author's note.

this fic remains self-indulgent and more interested in character study and character-driven conflict, alongside an excuse to write out some _longstanding_ headcanons. don't be fooled by the fact that our characters need a means to get to each other! the events in the story are a means to achieve this. to be upfront: if you are looking for a fast-paced narrative that heavily banks on a quest or singular plot, this won't be it. shrug. 1-11-19.


	8. 008: Interlude with Three Strangers

**An Interlude with Three Strangers**

One | Earlier

"Jeez, mister! What happened to your face?"

Yusuke grimaced, looking back at the impertinent brat he'd walked past. Here he was being a decent citizen: looking both ways at the pedestrian crossing of a small street, a useful but undeniably ironic habit that had popped up after his incident at fourteen, when the kid had piped up behind him—loudly.

He couldn't have been older than five, maybe six, but Yusuke had never been good at gauging small, short, socially-awkward people—Hiei, after all, was several decades old. Judging by the array of marbles contained in sidewalk chalk, Yusuke had walked into the middle of a one-person game. He glanced down and lifted the bottom of his shoe. Alright, more like scuffed his way through the kid's game. Yusuke's mom hadn't let him wander too far off at that age, so the boy must have lived just up the stairs to the apartment complex that Yusuke was passing.

Tugging self-consciously at the ears of his hat, Yusuke scowled. "Didn't your mom ever teach you not to talk to strangers?"

The boy wrinkled his nose, sitting back on his haunches as he regarded the man. "Yeah."

Yusuke sputtered. Unbothered by his own forthright behavior, the kid rolled a marble on the ground with a flattened palm. "Did you get in an accident?"

His cheeks warmed, which didn't make the hair on the back of his neck feel any better as it continued to dampen from the sweat already accumulating there. Yusuke rolled his eyes upwards. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

"Did it hurt?"

Clicking his teeth, Yusuke nodded. "Yup, _a lot_." He stepped backwards, looking over his shoulder, a fist coming to slam against the button on the pole. Traffic was light, but even Urameshi Yusuke had his neuroticisms and jaywalking was one of them.

It seemed to be enough for the kid, who bit his thumbnail with a considering look before going back to his game.

Two | On Time

There was a boy on the train holding a soccer ball in his arms, duffel bag on his lap to save space. He must have been middle school aged, or a first year in high school, and he seemed comfortable riding alone—well, as comfortable as anyone could get in the crowded car. Holding his soccer ball with one hand, he had a book propped up on top it with his other hand. Yusuke couldn't catch the title, but it was a modestly thick paperback with a worn spine. _Good for him_ , the detective thought. At that age, Yusuke hitting the books had been the last thing- no, the _furthest_ thing – from his mind.

It was either stare at the reading teen or stare at the whirling, balding head dangerously close to head-butting Yusuke if it leaned any farther back. Yusuke rolled his eyes, lifting his chin upwards to narrowly avoid making any further contact with the man holding onto the strap right beside his.

It must have been a good book, because the boy deftly flipped the pages with his thumb without loosening his hold like he'd done it a few dozen times already. Every so often his eyes would list away from the page, as if he needed a break or a second to digest whatever it was on the page.

No poker face. This was a kid who never had to adopt a mean mug to be unbothered on a train like Yusuke had cultivated years prior. The boy's eyebrows rose and furrowed, his freckled nose scrunching up while he re-read sentences and mouthed them; Yusuke would have craned his neck more to catch a glimpse of the title if not for the sudden jerk that announced the arriving stop. Like a toy brought to real life, the boy's actions became a full body ensemble as he hurried to shove his book into his bag and wiggle his way out of the seat towards the doors.

Yusuke slid his eyes away, catching the briefest bob of a black, cow-licked head before it disappeared.

Third | Later

He and Kurama had found themselves on foot away from the nearest station, now at the top of a hill. Below, winding with the steep and cobbled road rather than cutting against for ease of access, were a handful of modest shops and antiquities lining the street. Their shingled roofs all angled the faint sprinkling of rain downhill, each business another gradation that made the trickling water plink and change pitch.

It was _quaint_. Off the busier paths and certainly compact, foot traffic could hardly span more than two people side-by-side on the road.

"I would've remembered if we'd been here," Yusuke said, flipping his collar up. "I'm not saying it isn't Keiko's kinda thing – looks like – but this place don't ring a bell for me."

Kurama hummed quietly, a note of acknowledgement but little else. His finger tapped against the corner of a pamphlet absently as he surveyed the surrounding businesses. Shop fronts were still open, though many had slid their fronts closed or partially to keep the sudden breeze that came from the unexpected rainfall.

"I suppose I took a wrong turn," the redhead said after a time.

Incredulously, Yusuke cocked his head. "You?"

"It _can_ happen." Kurama's mouth twitched, the barest expression of ruefulness possible. "I don't suppose it'd be worth it to-"

 _Ba-da-ping! Ba-da-ping!_ _Ba-da_ —the tinny melody echoed under the little awning the two men stood in while waiting. It was a generic ring tone, and Yusuke patted his pockets to find his little brick.

"Ah," Kurama said, reading the number on the screen of his phone before lifting it to his ear. He met Yusuke's eyes and lifted a shoulder, mouthing _my mother_. Yusuke nodded, lifting two thumbs up.

The change in demeanor was always interesting to watch as an interloper – Kurama's upbeat, but respectful " _Okaasan_ " a warm contrast to his more calculating nature. His voice became a murmur as he moved away into a nearby alley for privacy.

 _Well, that'll take a while_ , Yusuke thought. Absently, he scuffed his foot against the pavement while looking at the shop fronts across the narrow street.

His eyes skipped across the varied signs- a stationery store, herbal teas, a pawnshop – to land on the familiar soft glow of a vending machine tucked narrowly away.

"At least a drink wouldn't hurt."

The daytime sprinkle was still not letting up. It was after a light jog and fifty yen later that Yusuke found himself listening to the water rushing from a gutter as he popped the tab on a coffee.

Rainwater gushed and spluttered onto the pavement from the gutter. It was clean, and as it raced down the black stone road it left the impression of a glossy lacquer. Again, Yusuke was struck by how quiet and quaint the place felt. With the sound of rain, the traffic streets over could barely be heard.

When was the last time he felt like this? The feeling tickled, a corner of his mind whirring up as if to rifle through polaroid and film. _The last peaceful place I visited…_

He stared down at the blue aluminum in his hand, as if it might spark or jog the memory. Damn. It was an invasive thought, but he'd grown used to following his gut when it came to sudden impulses and this seemed… _relevant_.

Somewhere, a wind chime danced softly. It sounded _familiar_ in the still peace, and his brain, again, tried to grasp at something out of reach.

Yusuke flicked the tab with his thumb, annoyed. Finding it satisfying, Yusuke flicked it again. And again. It didn't help his memory, and _fuck is this what getting old feels like?_ but it scratched another itch in his brain to hear the tinny _pl-ick_ echo in time to the rain.

A laugh, soft, and it wasn't his.

The back of his neck prickled, it was the familiar sensation of someone staring intently at him. Like a dangling spider web wafting in an errant breeze, it swept up against him and settled into awareness he couldn't ignore. Yusuke lifted his shoulders, touching the lobes of his ears as he dipped his chin to his chest. He lifted his eyes to the stranger who Yusuke found to be suddenly just _there_.

And it took something, these days, for Yusuke not to notice people walking up to him. He twisted his mouth into the familiar, gruff scowl that had successfully sent hundreds of people off to mind their own business.

The man blinked, smiling without a hint of embarrassment at being caught. It was a roguish flash of teeth, crooked and framed with dimples that looked like crescent moons carved into the corners of his mouth. It made him look younger, and he was already indiscernibly young and handsome.

"Something I can help you with?"

"No." But he was smiling. He said _no_ easily, effortlessly, with the assuredness of someone who had plenty of time to waste at the expense of someone else. Yusuke clocked his attire; the jacket was as flashy and as buoyant as the rest of the man's demeanor.

"No," the man said, again, as if to confirm for himself. He cocked his head, which only brought attention to the earring dangling from his ear that brushed against his jaw. He regarded Yusuke with open curiosity, tan fingers coming up to frame him as if for a portrait. "No, not you."

"Alright, then move along – this ain't a free show or something." Yusuke scowled fiercely. The guy was harmless so far, but _annoying_. And as he was a young and handsome guy, Yusuke figured he was just a capital-Y _Youth_ —which should have explained things point blank, considering Yusuke figured he himself was just an asshole out of touch.

Something must have been funny because the man laughed, shaking his head. He smiled, the lift of his mouth again neatly folding a dimple into his cheek. Everything about him, like his smile, was a touch crooked – from the lay of his jacket's collar, to the fringe of hair that was both stylish and windswept.

"I wanted to come see." Something flickered in his eyes and Yusuke had the fleeting thought that the sentence might have ended with a _you_. "But you're not how I thought."

Something about that, and the way the man's brows lifted, minuscule, had Yusuke bristling. "Hey-"

"Don't be mad," the man said, holding his hands up. His bracelets jingled. His palms were stained in blotches of blue ink. " _Wrong number_ , ne?" His English was accented but understandable, and he winked before skirting around Yusuke airily.

"Wait – what the fuck-" Yusuke reared his head back, taken by the smooth action before his chin dipped down to look at the ground. Rollerblades. The guy was wearing _rollerblades_.

By the time he'd thought to grab an arm, Flashy Jacket was already gliding down the hill, daringly fast.

In no time the colorful speck was gone, and Yusuke felt as discontent as the coffee can now on the ground, its spilt contents mingling with the rainwater.

"Yusuke?"

His expression must have been stormy as he turned around. Kurama straightened in response, attuned.

"Something wrong?"

* * *

back again. 5.11.20.


End file.
